My Brother, the Star
by Kaoru2.50
Summary: Dean Winchester is one of the adult film industry's highest rated actors, and with only one film left on his contract, he is ready to retire from the limelight. But his has never been an easy road and with the end in sight, his strictly separated career and private lives are seemingly headed for ruin. Slash, AU, mature language.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okay, so I read "Castiel's Friendly Neighbor" ( /s/9454414/1/Castiel-s-Friendly-Neighbor ) by BrandiChampane here on the site and was so inspired! So with her permission, I've written my own story based off her prompt, slightly modified. **

Dean Winchester sank down slowly into the old couch behind him, hardly noticing the deep give of the cushion as he focused instead on the regret that he hadn't sat immediately when Sam had suggested. But rather than making his situation better, the room spun worse, so he pushed himself back up, paced the cramped living room with short, agitated steps, and shoved a hand through his hair as he tried desperately to process the news his little brother had so calmly laid on him.

"Are you sure?" he asked, spinning on his heel to narrow his gaze at Sam, trying to see everything at once. Was the boy drunk? Possibly hung over? Or had he really messed up and downed some of those damn pills Dean had heard were becoming popular with college kids?

But Sam looked completely normal, even gave the same smart ass little laugh he did when he'd decided Dean had asked a stupid question. "Dean, I've been sure since Aaron Dacus and junior high debate club."

Well, that sounded like Sam, but still Dean resisted, shaking his head and resuming his pacing. After several tense moments of silence, during which Sam's steady gaze followed Dean patiently around the room, Dean again turned to face his younger brother. "Is this my fault?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest as if to ward off the answer he figured would be coming. "Is it because of-"

Sam cut him off with a snort of disbelief and finally he stood. "No! I mean, really, Dean?" He laughed again and shook his hair from his eyes, then turned to walk into their small kitchen. "I'm just not attracted to girls. How does that have anything to do with you?" Dean heard the refrigerator open and the familiar sound of bottles clinking together before it closed again. Then Sam was beside him, silently urging him back to sitting as he passed over the cold beer.

Dean twisted the slick glass bottle in his hands, his thoughts a blur. "What about that blonde chick, Jennifer?" he remembered, motioning vaguely with one hand. Hadn't Sam dated her for the better part of his senior year?

Sam shrugged, leaning forward to snap the bottle cap off on the edge of the table before taking a gulp. "Jessica?" he supplied the correction and Dean nodded, thumbs toying with the edges of his bottle cap as he watched his brother. "She was a lesbian," Sam told him, settling back into the armchair, only slightly less used than the couch. "Her folks were real conservative though. So we faked being together until graduation." He laughed then, as if remembering some long forgotten joke. "As open-minded as people are in college, being gay in high school still meant getting your ass kicked on a semi-regular basis."

Dean didn't smile, and after several moments the grin faded from Sam's face until they were just staring at each other. Dean leaned forward, faking a cough to distract a bit from the awkwardness of the situation. "Guys, huh?" Sam nodded, watching as Dean mimicked his earlier movements, popping the lid off the bottle between his hand and the table. Dean sat up and looked back at him. "Since junior high?" Again, Sam nodded, taking another swig from his bottle. Then Dean rolled his eyes and snorted. "Should have fucking known, man," he grumbled, and brought his beer to his lips. "Princess hair," he finished, and managed a few gulps before ducking the remote Sam chunked at his head.

Same bitch face, same laugh, same Sammy looking at him with puppy dog eyes so hopeful for his big brother's approval. "So…" Sam cleared his throat and took another gulp of his half-empty beer, his eyes at last leaving Dean to wander aimlessly about the room, finally settling on his hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle. "So, we cool?" he tried again and Dean figured he might have imagined all the insecurity of the question.

Still, he shrugged. "I am," he snorted, falling so easily back into his normal big brother routine. It was easier, it was familiar. "You'll always be a nerd." He pushed himself from the couch, ignoring the scathing look Sam sent his way. But as he passed the chair, he ruffled his brother's hair, like he hadn't done since he'd been in high school and Sammy was still a foot shorter than him. "But we're good, anyway." Because even if it wasn't true, even if he was still unwilling to accept that the brother he'd practically raised was gay, Sammy was still Sammy. Family was what mattered, and it was all he had. He wasn't about to lose it, not for anything.

**A/N: I realize it's short, but I have the next few chapters ready to go, so just bear through the introduction. Thanks for reading! And thanks again to BrandiChampane for humoring me!  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: In case you haven't yet, check out BrandiChampane's "Castiel's Friendly Neighbor".**

Okay. He wasn't okay. He tried, he really did. But it all just came down to one thing. Somehow, sometime, he'd let his little brother down. It didn't matter what Sammy had said, or even what his friend and agent Lisa Braeden was trying to tell him now. Dean knew one thing for sure: it was his fault.

"It's not your fault," Lisa's words cut through his thoughts, and Dean snorted, slipping further down into the faux leather seat of his friend's minivan and shoving the sunglasses higher on his face. The tinted windows did a good enough job of keeping out most of the sun, but with the dark glasses, Dean could pretend they weren't driving through downtown L.A. He hated the city and wished he could be back home, elbow deep in grease as he worked on restoring one of the beat up classic cars that might otherwise go to waste in Bobby's scrap yard.

Lisa meant well, he figured. Didn't mean she knew what the hell she was talking about, and he told her so. Anyone else might have taken offense, but this was Lisa. They'd been friends way too long and lived through too much shit together. So she just rolled her eyes and puffed stray hairs from her face as she switched lanes. "Fine. Blame yourself, you're going to do it anyway. So what are you going to change?"

"Change?" Dean echoed, lolling his head back to the window to watch Lisa as the woman nodded. "What are you talking about?"

Lisa shrugged with one shoulder. "Once you realize something is wrong, you have to change it, right? According to you," she spared him a pointed look before their light turned green, "Sam is the way he is because of something you've done. Or not done, heck, I don't know how your mind works. Point is, you've got to change something before you can fix it," she concluded, pulling the minivan into a familiar parking lot and maneuvering into a space near the back.

Dean focused on the question, mentally running through every mistake he could remember making since his father's death. "Is this something that can be fixed?" he asked, his voice low with thought.

"No, idiot," Lisa answered quickly, grabbing her bag and pushing open the door. "Not that you'll listen to me."

Dean made a face at her before hopping out his own door. He closed it with a satisfying thunk, and stretched his arms above his head. "I meant, isn't it too late?" he said as Lisa walked around the van to his side. "Sam's already decided he's all about the dick. How is me changing anything going to fix it?"

Lisa shrugged. "_I_ said this wasn't your fault anyway," she told him, pulling his arms down so she could work on straightening his jacket, messing with his short hair and generally making him more presentable. Dean rolled his eyes but let her to it. She was his agent after all. Maybe it made her feel like she was doing more than making sure the company followed the contract. "But, you know," she started, her voice low as she refused to meet his gaze, eyes intent instead on her hands smoothing the cloth covering his shoulders. "You could quit this."

This. Dean didn't need to ask. Lisa had been less-than-subtly pushing him to quit making adult videos for the last year and he sighed, reaching up to grip her wrists gently. "We've talked about this," he said, letting her hands fall from his.

"Money's not the issue anymore, Dean," she interrupted before he could list off all the reasons he needed to stay. "You own the house now, and the car. I've got my own place, with plenty in savings, and Ben is starting school in a month." She met his eyes then, silent pleading lacing the warm brown of her gaze. "Please, Dean, I know you don't like this even half as much as you pretend. I've got offers for you, _real_ offers, for real movies."

Dean snorted. "The minute I stepped in that studio," he motioned towards the large building with Hellhounds emblazoned across one side, "we knew there was only one kind of acting I could ever do." He rolled his shoulders, taking a few steps towards the building before glancing back to his friend. "Besides," he continued as she moved to walk in stride with him, "Sammy's still got another year of school to pay for, and I still got a contract."

"For one more movie, Dean," Lisa pointed out, waving her index finger in his direction. "One more and it's this train wreck. Then you're free to move on."

She sounded so hopeful then, so concerned for him, that Dean bit down his automatic response of denial and just nodded. He slapped on a grin, throwing an arm around her shoulders to pull Lisa into his side. "Train wreck?" he protested, adopting the snobbish Hollywood tone he normally despised. "I'll have you know, my last four movies have topped the charts. I'm a star, babe," he finished, giving her the half grin that made him famous in certain circles, and pushed his sunglasses up on his head to wink at her.

Lisa laughed, elbowing him lightly in the side. She opened her mouth, no doubt with a smart reply, but a glance over Dean's shoulder stopped her short. "Oh, damn it," she snarled, and Dean's brows lifted. Even the mild curse was unusual for his single-mother friend.

His arm still around her shoulders, Dean turned, his gaze scanning the parking lot until he spotted what had caught her attention, and ire. The cherry red convertible was unmistakable, unique even in a city where sports cars outnumbered licensed drivers. "Son of a bitch," he snapped, because really there was nothing else he could say.

**A/N: Thanks for reading and, if you've got a moment, let me know what you think so far. Next chapter in a few days. I'm trying to pace myself here. **


	3. Chapter 3

Dean settled back in his chair, hardly listening as Lisa spoke with Alistair Heyerdahl, the studio's head director. He trusted her well enough anyway to look out for his interests, and she was much more tactful when it came to discussing script issues. It was too bad there wasn't a clause in his contract that allowed him to pick his partner, otherwise he sure as hell wouldn't be sitting across the conference table from Ruby Cortese. She sent him a sultry smile, just the edges of her red lips curling as her eyes narrowed seductively and her fingers toyed with the edges of her copy of the script.

Dean hated her. But he kept his face impassive. "Dean," she greeted him, finally breaking the silence they'd maintained since meeting in the hall. Her agent glanced at them, but said nothing. Under the table, Dean felt Lisa place a calming hand on his thigh, though her attention seemed never to waver from her argument with Alistair.

"Ruby," he replied, keeping his voice steady. "Lure any more kids to hell lately?"

She only laughed at him, flipping her dark wavy hair over her shoulder, before leaning over the table in a manner clearly meant to display her attributes. Rather than arousal, all Dean could feel was the disgust curling in the pit of his stomach. "Be fair, baby," she drawled, one red tipped nail drawing vague designs on the slick table top. "Joanna is just darling at this gig, and your little brother would have been bigger than even you." Ruby leaned back in her chair and spun slightly away as she laughed low. "In more ways than one," she finished with a lewd wink in his direction.

Lisa's hand on his leg tightened to a painful grip, proof that she was listening to their exchange, and sending him a silent plea to keep things civil. Dean folded his hands together to still the angry trembling in his fingers and sent Ruby a tight smile. "You can't handle this Winchester, Ruby. You shouldn't bite off more than you can chew," he told her, struggling to keep his voice light. Even he could hear how he failed, his recommendation coming out as more a threat.

Still, the woman only smiled at him, eyes alight with wicked mischief. "Who said anything about chewing?" she returned, the tip of her tongue darting out to run suggestively over her lips as her eyes raked over his figure.

Dean didn't bother to hide his disgust then, and was never more grateful for Lisa as when she stood, signaling the end of their meeting. Dean bolted up, pushing the chair back a little too forcefully in his hurry, but if Alistair noticed, the older man chose not to comment, simply rising to his feet and shaking Dean's and Lisa's hands in turn. "As always, a pleasure doing business with you," he told them with a smarmy smile.

He forced a smile back before Dean rounded the table, eyes on the door and escape with Lisa hot on his heels. Ruby's hand gripped his when he passed too close and Dean looked down at her, brow raised as he subtly tried to pull away. "Speaking of our dear friends," Ruby started, using Dean's arm to pull herself up to standing way too close for his comfort, "have you checked out our co-stars?"

Before he could ask what she meant, Lisa was pressing at his back, urging him out the door. "Sorry to cut this short, darling," she called to Ruby, neither looking nor sounding at all apologetic. "We've got other business, you know, things to do, and such. Ta!" Lisa waved over her shoulder, dropping the fake cheerfulness as soon as the door closed behind them. Dean and Lisa looked at the solid wood for a moment, then she let out a sigh of relief, stepping around Dean to head down the hallway, her pace much quicker now that they were leaving than it had been on arrival.

"What the hell was she talking about, Lisa?" Dean asked, easily keeping pace with his shorter friend. "Dear friends and co-stars. What was all that shit?"

Lisa sighed again, her hand rising to absently toy with the ends of her loose ponytail. "As much as I wish I could say Ruby was only trying to rile you," Lisa confessed, clearly uncomfortable, "truth is, this whole film is like…" she paused, her hands floating in the air helplessly as she searched for the words, "like a clip show of all your favorite mistakes."

"Come again," Dean said, nodding shortly to the secretary as they passed. She took a moment to wave at them before turning her attention back to the line of applicants auditioning for the newest Hellhounds production. Dean shook his head as he looked over the group. God, some of them were just kids. Lisa beat him to the door, holding it open for him to pass through. Once outside, they paused briefly, squinting against the glaring sunlight after the semi-dark studio offices.

Lisa waited until they were safely seated in her van, away from prying eyes and ears, before she passed him a thin folder of papers. He lifted his brows at her in question, but she only motioned again to the folder, then focused on pulling on her seatbelt as if the task actually required brain power. So Dean flipped it open, frowning when Ruby's headshot greeted him. Quickly, he rotated it to the back. The next photo pulled an unceremonious "Fuck" from him. The printed name might have read 'Joanna Tal' but Dean would recognize his childhood friend anywhere. Joanna Beth Harvelle. He'd known that Ruby had managed to bring Jo into their world, but this would be his first time acting with her. "Ellen is going to kill me," he muttered.

"Yeah, keep going," Lisa ordered, the sarcastic lilt to her tone clear indication that he wouldn't like what he was going to see. "It gets better."

He flipped through the photos at a steady pace, punctuating each with another curse. Tessa. "Shit." Garth. "Crap." Meg. "Damn it." Amy and Bela. "Hell and balls," he finished, closing the folder and tossing it over his shoulder to the middle row of seats. Lisa nodded, pulling the car smoothly into traffic. "It's like the devil himself cast this film," he growled. "Get me out of it, Lisa."

She shook her head, her frown deepening. "Would if I could, Dean, really. But remember that little thing you have called a contract? We negotiated away your right to decide what films you'd do in exchange for the higher pay and the one percent clause." Dean cursed again, though he knew that the one percent he continued to make off the sale of each film was the bulk of Sammy's tuition. Lisa's laugh brought him out of his thoughts, though there was no humor in the sound. "Honestly, if I didn't know better, I'd think Alistair was trying to get you to quit."

His brows lifted from frown to surprise at that. "Quit?" he echoed doubtfully. "All the money I make that man, you'd reckon he'd be doing all he can to get me to stay."

Lisa puffed out another sigh, her eyes never leaving the road. "Alright, hotshot, keep up with me here because things are about to get a little convoluted." Dean settled back against the door and put on his best listening face, because when Lisa said things were going to get convoluted, she meant it. "You quit, you break contract. And this," she pointed a finger at him, "is the kind of break that usually results in a you'll-never-work-in-this-town-again attitude. Hellhounds is particularly notorious for this sort of thing. You quit, they sue, you're broke, under a ton of debt, and without options, so you go crawling back." She put her hand back on the wheel, her fingers running nervously over the furred cover. "Alistair and his boss get what they really wanted all along: a hot ticket porn star at a cut rate price."

"Like I'd come back," Dean snorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

Lisa didn't pay any attention to his show of rebellion, only shaking her head as if she found him hopelessly naïve. "I'm not going to pretend to know everything that goes on with that company, Dean," she told him, "but I'm not dumb enough to believe that they don't have ways of making you come back. Not after going through all the trouble of forcing you to break away."

Silence fell in the car for several miles, Lisa watching carefully out the windshield and Dean staring blankly out his window. "So," he finally said, just as old warehouses and rundown office buildings began to give way to neat houses and well-trimmed yards, "I'll just be sure not to break." Lisa nodded her agreement, but the furrow of her brows betrayed her worry.

**A/N: Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

Gabriel Novak prided himself on quite a few things. His charm was unrivaled, he knew. He was highly intelligent, as expected of a university professor, with a gift for languages that meant he was never without something to say, even if it made no sense to conversation. He was a tad on the short side, but he worked it. In all, he was outright awesome. His older brother, Michael, said he was an egotist. His younger brother, Castiel, called him overconfident. His girlfriend of three years, Anna Milton, was using language decidedly less complimentary and throwing things at his head with an accuracy of aim Gabriel had had no idea she possessed. "Come on, buttercup," he tried, using his best soothing voice.

It only served to piss the redhead off more. "Buttercup?" she snapped, searching the room with angry disorientation before finding and lobbing a glass vase at his head. It shattered against the wall behind him, because Gabriel had the athletic speed of a tiger. Just another mark in his favor, though he knew Anna was far from admiring it right then. "And how many times did you call your whore that?"

"Never," he replied, realizing too late the trap she'd set with the question. He winced as her face flushed darker, her eyes flashing. "You're beautiful when you're angry," he told her, and winced again as her scream of frustration pierced through their apartment. His eyes widened as she reached for the nearest object, a statue carved from solid onyx, its smooth and graceful lines belying its weight. He scrambled to duck behind the door, feeling the heavy wood shudder under the force of the statue. Then he heard the click of the lock, followed quickly by the deadbolt slamming firmly into place. "Aw, don't do this, lover," he called through the closed door, knocking pleadingly with his knuckles.

"Go fuck your whore, Gabriel!" came the yelled response. He heard more things being thrown around and then another yell. "Better yet, go fuck yourself!"

Gabriel heard a snicker and turned in time to catch their neighbor slipping back into his own apartment. He flipped the bird at the man's partially closed door, partnered with his most charming smile. Then turned from his own apartment and straightened his jacket. Well, that was one bridge burned beyond repair. But it wasn't like he didn't have options. So Gabriel took the elevator to ground level and strolled out the double doors. Pausing on the sidewalk, he looked up to find not only Anna's gaze trained angrily on him, but those of several other residents, in varying expressions of curiosity or disgust. He grinned at them and shouted up, "Gabriel has left the building. Peace out, bitches!" His mood was better as he walked away, whistling cheerfully and ignoring the sound of glass shattering as something else hit the pavement, from his former apartment if Anna screaming behind him gave him any clue.

An hour later, he was beginning to doubt his previous conclusion concerning his awesomeness when the scene repeated itself with almost disturbing similarities at the apartment he shared with his girlfriend of two years, Kali Sharma. With "Go fuck yourself" ringing in his ears for the second time that night, Gabriel decided that the most obvious course of action was to find himself a bar and drink himself stupid. With any luck, he could find another place to stay with a new girlfriend before the end of the night.

Kali's place was on the seedier side of town, just a few blocks from the Crossroads so he walked, grinning and spreading his arms wide when he rounded the corner. Bars and dives on both sides of the street for half a mile, any number of places for a discerning individual to get wasted.

Three bars and four hours later, Gabriel had worked his way through beers and lagers, and had moved on to hard liquor when he was tossed from another bar. Really, was it his fault that every chick he'd hooked up with in the last seven weeks was staked out at each of his favorite bars? He'd been slapped more times than he could count, though given the amount of alcohol in his system he might admit to a certain dullness in his math skills. He stumbled for a moment, trying to regain his balance, then stood, straightening his jacket and turning his eyes to the next bar down the street. The neon lights blurred a little in his vision, and he could feel the sounds of music, laughter and talking only slightly dulled by the doors. None of it meant he was so drunk he couldn't go for more though, and he started walking. He opened the door to the next bar just in time for the bouncer to shove another man out. Together, they staggered and fell in an undignified heap as another, more sober couple walked in, laughing.

The man pushed himself up, only slightly more steady on his feet than Gabriel himself, and shouted a string of curses at the closed doors that sent Gabriel's eyebrows rocketing into his hair. "Brother, I know the kind of drinking you're doing," Gabriel sang and the man turned back to him, almost losing his footing.

"The hell did you come from?" he snapped, eyeing Gabriel suspiciously as the shorter man slowly regained his upright position.

Gabriel squinted back down the road, finding one mess of neon lights that looked vaguely more familiar than the others. "That bar over there," he pointed, then turned the other way, hand still raised. "So I guess that means I'm going that way."

The other man snorted. "Bitches that way," he told him, miming shooting himself in the head. "Let's go that way," he pointed across the street. Gabriel didn't hesitate, just nodded his agreement and threw an arm around the man's shoulder, extending the other as if to say, "lead on."

By the time they'd crossed the street, which may have taken longer than it should have, and may have disturbed more drivers than was absolutely necessary, he and his companion, Dean, were best friends. And Gabriel told him so. "Seriously, I mean it! I love you, bro." Gabriel stressed as he pulled open the door to the newest bar. "I'ma jus' keep drinking with you, 'cause like every chick tonight…" he trailed off, eyes comically wide as he shook his head with remembered pain.

Dean nodded his agreement, cheeks flushed with drink and mouth set in a firm line. "Every chick all week," he said aloud and flagged a waitress to order a bottle of whiskey Gabriel reckoned would keep their glasses filled for at least another forty minutes. After he'd taken his first gulp and refilled for another, Dean added, "Half the dudes, too. Shit's just fucked."

"I hear that," Gabriel laughed and lifted his glass in a drunken toast before downing the whole thing, slamming it down and slapping his hand on the table for a refill.

It was less than twenty minutes later that both men were again shoved from the bar and Dean was even angrier. "Dick don't know drunk from buzzed," he told Gabriel with a snarl.

Gabriel only laughed, stumbling down the street to a bus stop. There were no buses running this late into the night, but the worn out bench was better than the ground, and he spread out on it, making sure to leave room for his new friend. "Fuck, I'm way past buzzed, pal," he admitted, stuffing a hand into his pocket to find his cell phone. He pulled it out and stared blankly at the keypad. "Which is number three?" he asked, and passed the phone to Dean.

Dean snorted a laugh and grabbed it, staring at the screen for several moments before hitting the correct button. The faint sound of the phone calling from speed dial echoed briefly in the air between them until the man on the other end answered and Dean put the phone to his ear. "'Lo?" he asked, brows furrowed as if he'd forgotten that it wasn't his phone in hand. "Gabriel?" He turned green eyes to his companion and Gabriel waved at him to keep talking, a sloppy grin spread across his face. "Gabriel's drunk. Better come pick him up." And with no further information, Dean clicked the phone off and tossed it into the other man's lap. Gabriel nodded his thanks as he pushed it back into his pocket, registered that the world was tilting dangerously then passed out, slumped across the wide bench.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam leaned back in his chair, the creaking loud in the silence of his room, and rubbed his hand over his face. It was late July, and school wouldn't be starting for another month. So for the fifth time that night, Sam questioned why he was studying rather than spending his summer having fun. And for the fifth time that night, he reminded himself of his impressive grade point average and the importance of keeping it.

The ringing of his phone, even across the room and muffled by his bed sheets, still startled him, and he jumped up, taking several seconds to process before he realized someone was actually calling him. By the time he'd found and disentangled the phone, the ringing had stopped and the screen blinked with the voicemail icon. Sam pushed his hair back from his face as flipped open the phone and pushed play. "Sammy, I'm at the Crossroads. Come get me."

Sam waited for more, and rolled his eyes when he realized that the short message was really all that Dean had left for him. "Jerk didn't even tell me he was in town, just goes and gets wasted," Sam muttered to himself as he searched the room for his jacket, then the jacket for his keys. Dean had taken the Impala when he'd left for L.A. the week before, so Sam had been stuck with their piece of shit back up vehicle. Just another reason to stay home and study instead of getting a life.

It was a twenty minute drive across town, during which Sam tried calling Dean seven times, leaving three voicemails asking for more specific directions. When he reached the Crossroads, Sam pulled into a parking spot, automatically searching the lot for the Impala. He spotted her distinctive black lines several spots away and hurried over, but a quick glance through the windows showed no Dean. So huffing out a breath of annoyance, Sam turned and headed across the street.

If their town had a bar district, this would have to be it. Nine dives, four honky-tonks, three sports bars, two strip clubs and one very out of place cocktail lounge lining the street on either side, collectively called The Crossroads. "Fuck," Sam breathed as he took in the masses pouring through the doors. Dean was going to owe him.

Sam found a waitress at the third bar he searched who remembered a man matching Dean's description, but he'd been tossed out some hours earlier for 'antagonizing the band.' When he asked what she meant, a sour expression passed over the woman's pretty face. She pointed to the guitarist, and even under the poor lighting, Sam could see the bruise darkening the man's left eye. "Called him a hack," the waitress told him, "said he couldn't play Def Leopard even with sheet music, then pulled him from the stage to leave him that little parting gift."

The laugh escaped before he could stop it, and at the woman's annoyed expression, Sam hid it with a cough. "Thanks," he told her and dropped a five on the table before he left. The expression on her face told him that it wasn't enough for what she'd dealt with. He gave her his best apologetic smile before leaving the bar. An hour of searching produced no Dean, but cost Sam nearly three hundred in damages between one of the sports bars and both strip clubs. He couldn't hear the ringing, but he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket and quickly answered with a frustrated, "Dean?"

"Sammy," Dean yelled through the phone, and Sam pulled it away with a grimace. His brows furrowed when he realized he could still hear Dean calling him and, turning in nearly a full circle, finally spotted his brother sprawled on a bus stop bench across the street, waving his arm over his head. "Over here, Sammy!" he yelled and Sam clicked his phone closed on the echo before quickly and cautiously making his way across the street.

"Alright, what the hell, Dean," he started as soon as he reached his brother's side, only to have the other man shush him with exaggerated gestures.

Then, in a voice too loud to really be a whisper, Dean said, "You're gonna wake him." He thumbed to his side where a man was snoring softly. At least, Sam figured it was a man from the rumpled jacket and trim brown hair. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, choosing not to point out that Dean himself had just been yelling loud enough to be heard across the street.

"Right," Sam said slowly, then reached for Dean's arm to pull him up. "Come on, let's go."

Dean shook his head and pulled his arm away, stumbling back to sitting on the bench. "Can't just leave him, Sammy," he scolded. "Not all alone and passed out. You just don't do that to a friend." He patted the unconscious man's leg with a smile, then looked back to Sam with drunken seriousness.

"Dean," Sam started warningly, then stopped and took a deep breath. Then he took another one. Feeling slightly calmer, and knowing that Dean wouldn't leave until his 'friend' had, Sam tried again. "Alright, what's his name?"

Dean's brows furrowed in confusion. "Whose?" Sam stared at him, trying to decide if Dean had sobered enough to joke around. Coming to the frustrating conclusion that his brother was still out of his head, Sam pointed the sleeping stranger, who flinched and grumbled something unintelligible, but didn't wake. Dean turned his head to look down at the man. "Oh," he said and shrugged. "Dunno." Sam nearly lost his cool then, but Dean grinned up at him and continued. "But we called his ride like… how long did it take you to find me?"

"An hour and a half," Sam told him dryly, his fists clenching at his sides as he remembered the loss of his three hundred dollars on top of the utter waste of his time.

"Whoa," Dean breathed, his eyes going comically wide. "We called his ride like an hour and a half ago. Maybe they're lost?" As much as Sam wanted to just grab Dean and leave, his brother sounded so concerned just then that he reigned in the urge. Didn't mean he was going to waste any more time talking to the souse though. Sam knelt next to the stranger and fumbled with his jacket until he located the pockets, ignoring Dean's shout of laughter and cry of "Gay." He found what he was searching for, pulling out a much used phone. Luckily, there was no lock on the screen and it was easy enough for Sam to find the recent calls list. He called the first name on the list, hoping it was the right one. All he needed was to be calling some poor bastard the man had drunk dialed.

"Gabriel?" a low voice asked on the first ring and Sam breathed a sigh of relief. That was bar music in the background, so this was definitely the person the drunk had called.

"Um, no," he said aloud, standing and looking up and down the street for someone else on the phone. Not that it would narrow anything down. Everyone was on their damn phone. "But if Gabriel's the poor sap passed out drunk on this bench, I think you might be looking in the wrong place." He gave quick instructions to the man on the other end of the line before hanging up and dropping the phone back into the man's pocket. "Your friend's name is Gabriel, by the way."

Dean laughed, and Sam looked at him with brows raised. "I knew that," his brother said with a shrug, still grinning stupidly. Sam fought the urge to choke him.

"Gabriel," a man's voice called, and Sam turned from his brother to see a shorter man, dark hair sloppy and tie askew under his trench coat rushing towards them. He knelt next to the other man, slapping his cheek lightly in an attempt to wake him.

"Gay," Dean shouted again, and collapsed into laughter.

Sam flushed with embarrassment when the man turned his confused gaze first on Dean and then to Sam. He cleared his throat awkwardly then motioned to Dean. "He's drunk."

The man nodded his understanding and stood. "I'm Castiel Novak," he said, his voice steady and polite despite the situation. "Thank you for looking after my brother. I hope he did not cause you too much trouble."

"Uh, no," Sam stammered, trying to ignore Dean's drunken rambling as easily as Castiel seemed able. "No trouble. He's been asleep." Castiel nodded and turned back to his brother, trying again to rouse the man. Gabriel was just as unresponsive as he'd been since Sam's arrival. Sam brought his attention back to his own brother. "Alright, Dean. Your friend is taken care of, so let's go now." He reached for Dean's arm and for the second time that night was pushed away.

That look of drunken concern had returned to Dean's face, and Sam knew what was coming before his brother even opened his mouth. He cursed every beer that had taken Dean past his flirty stage, through his angry stage, and straight on to fun and friendly. "Carry him, Sammy. Can't let them walk back on their own." He threw an arm in the direction of the parking lot where the Impala sat waiting for them. "It's forever away."

Castiel shook his head. "It is not necessary…"

"Trust me when I say you're wasting your breath," Sam told him and moved in front of Gabriel, pulling the unconscious man to a semi-sitting position. He stirred then, brown eyes opening to stare blankly at Sam before flicking to the left where his brother watched, his face set with concern. "I'm here to help," Sam told him as he turned and knelt. "Give me your hands," he ordered, holding his own over his shoulders until he felt the other man gripping him. A moment's maneuvering had Gabriel riding piggy back as Sam pushed himself to standing.

The man let out a drunken squeal of delight and Sam grimaced as the sound pierced the air right next to his ear. "I'm taller'n you, Castiel!" the man shouted and laughed, his feet kicking out on either side of Sam's waist. Sam couldn't help but smile at that and at Castiel's demure nod as they started back towards the start of Crossroads, Dean leaning heavily on the shorter man.

It was slow going as Dean seemed to stumble every fifth step and even Gabriel's light weight started dragging on him. Dean and Gabriel's steady stream of mostly incoherent conversation was interrupted when Gabriel suddenly pushed his nose into the hair behind Sam's ear, startling the taller man so much that he almost dropped him. "You have such pretty hair," the man murmured, running the fingers of one hand through Sam's hair.

"Princess hair," Dean told him, face a mask of seriousness, and almost tripped. Castiel caught him again, and pulled Dean's arm over his shoulder for better support. Sam nodded his thanks.

"Princess hair," Gabriel repeated, and Sam rolled his eyes. Then he sucked in a breath as Gabriel nuzzled his neck. "And it smells good too," he said low, his breath brushing over the sensitive skin of Sam's neck. Sam felt the flush rising to his cheeks and he cleared his throat again. Damn, it must have been too long since the last time he'd gotten laid if some drunk copping the most chaste of feels was starting to turn him on.

All thoughts of arousal flew straight out of his head in the next ten seconds, when Gabriel pulled himself up higher on Sam's back, leaned over his left shoulder and puked. Sam immediately turned his head away with a sound of disgust, Dean burst into uncontrollable giggles, and Castiel gasped, "Gabriel!"

"Sorry, sorry," Gabriel murmured, slipping back down Sam's back and dropping his head against his arm just behind Sam's shoulder as the taller man leaned forward, trying to keep his now ruined jacket from touching any part of the rest of him.

Sam stood still for a few moments and looked back at Castiel, who was apologizing for his brother in a mortified tone. "It's alright," he broke in when Castiel took a breath and gave the man what he was sure was the tightest of smiles. "This wasn't my favorite jacket anyway." Castiel nodded and they started walking again, both men keeping a wary eye on their charges for any more surprises.

When they finally reached the parking lot, Dean pulled away from Castiel and staggered to his car, calling endearments until he reached it. As his brother hugged the vehicle, Sam followed Castiel to his car and helped the man load Gabriel into the back seat. "Sorry, sorry," the half-awake man muttered again as Sam backed away.

"I can replace the jacket, if you'd like," Castiel offered but Sam waved him off. "Very well. Thank you again," he said and nodded his head in farewell. Sam didn't wait for them to leave, just turned and walked to the Impala. Dean had let himself in and was stretched across the backseat, feet hanging out the door as he snored loudly. Sam reached in and pulled the keys from Dean's loose grasp, then shoved his legs inside the car to close the door, not caring if he was comfortable.

He walked to the driver's side, lifting the edge of his jacket away with the tips of his fingers. With a sigh, he slipped the jacket off, put his phone and keys in his jeans pocket and rolled up the offending garment. After a moment's silent debate, Sam threw the jacket to the ground. He wouldn't wear it again, no matter how many times it was washed. It would always remind him of the sour smell of vomit. Looking over at the P.O.S. car he'd driven there and just resolving to pick it up in the morning, Sam lowered himself into the Impala's driver's seat. It wasn't often he got to drive the car, and Sam smiled. At least something good had come from this night, though that by no means meant that Dean wasn't going to pay him back it all.


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel stood in the middle of his kitchen, contemplating breakfast. Normally, he skipped the meal, simply grabbing a slice of bread on his way out the door. But Gabriel had spent the night, and time with his brother was a rare enough occurrence that Castiel felt a break in his routine might be acceptable. A glance inside his fridge showed limited options that were not helped by the contents of his cabinets. Given Gabriel's condition the night before, Castiel wasn't sure his brother could handle much of anything just now. Still, politeness dictated that he provide some form of repast for his guest.

Ten minutes and one burnt finger later, Castiel set a plate of cinnamon covered toast on the counter. A shuffling noise came from the door and he turned in time to see his brother stumble in, an expression equal parts dazed and confused on his sleep flushed face. The confusion at least cleared quickly. "Oh, so I'm at your place," Gabriel said and Castiel didn't point out that his brother really should have known that, having been here before. He watched the other man take a few unsteady steps to the table, before sliding into a chair. Then he slumped forward, the old wood creaking dangerously under his weight.

For several moments, neither man said a word and Castiel stepped back to his counter. As he poured coffee into a pair of mugs, he heard the plate slide across the table and smiled. He knew Gabriel wouldn't be able to resist the sugary treat, no matter how his binging the night before left him feeling. Gabriel hardly spared him a glance when Castiel moved to sit across from him, eyes closed as he slowly munched on a slice, the bread half-hanging from his mouth.

Castiel pushed a mug towards his brother, then sat quickly, taking small slips of the hot liquid. When Gabriel had downed two slices, Castiel set his mug on the table, trailing his fingers lightly over the heated glass. "So what happened last night?" he asked.

"Damn, I was counting on you to remember," Gabriel laughed, then immediately winced, his head ducking a little lower. He reached for his mug and sipped loudly from it. "Anna dumped me," he finally said, and Castiel nodded, sorry for his brother's loss. His pity lasted for only the briefest moment though as Gabriel continued, "Kali dumped me too. They found out about each other and they both kicked me out." Gabriel shrugged, as if it was no great sin that he'd apparently been involved with two women simultaneously.

Hoping to hide the shock he was sure was on his face, Castiel lifted his mug to his lips, taking several long swallows as he listened to Gabriel confess to multiple women besides Anna and Kali. He had known, of course, for years that his brother was certainly less moral than he. Gabriel had always fought the strictness their Catholic upbringing had imposed. Even Castiel had chafed under such religious watchfulness and had chosen to join the Methodist church several years earlier. Still, he had never expected Gabriel to stray so far from the flock. Only God had the right to judge, he reminded himself, but his instinctive disapproval was harder to tamp down.

Castiel set his mug down and reached across the table for a slice of the sweetened bread as his brother fell to silence. Several minutes passed during which both men just chewed. Then Gabriel broke the silence with, "I threw up on a sasquatch."

Instantly, Castiel felt the blood rush to his face as he remembered his mortification. "That was Sammy. He looked after you until I arrived, and carried you back to my car when the other one told him to. I should have made you walk." He rubbed a hand over his face, as if by doing so he could scrub away the embarrassment.

Gabriel nodded. "That would have been Dean, right?" he asked, sounding proud for remembering on his own. Castiel only nodded and took another gulp of his coffee, grateful for the burn that distracted him from thinking on that night. How could Gabriel not feel the slightest hint of shame? "Did he look familiar to you?" his brother continued. Castiel frowned, trying to picture the other man. He got a vague impression of green eyes, but couldn't quite remember the rest of his face. He had been a little busy trying to keep the man from walking into street poles. So he shook his head. "Humph," Gabriel muttered, reaching for the last slice of sweet toast. "I swear I've seen him before, just can't place him. Should have asked…" he trailed off, then shrugged. "Oh, well. Guess it isn't too important."

Castiel took in his brother's face, the haggard lines of pain nearly gone. "Are you feeling better?" he asked, trying to remember if he still had a bottle of aspirin in his junk drawer. Gabriel's enthusiastic nod told him he wouldn't need it, but he stood anyway and moved across the kitchen to check. "So what will you do now?" he asked, pushing aside a half-empty package of batteries and a pair of scissors as he looked for that familiar blue bottle. "I don't suppose you have yet another girlfriend with another apartment?" He felt immediately bad for asking. The question had sounded less rude in his head.

Gabriel either didn't notice or didn't care. His voice was cheerful as ever as he replied, "Nope. I'm homeless now, little brother." Castiel knew what was coming before Gabriel said it, and tried to stop it, to suggest a hotel or even Michael, but he was too late. "Mind if I borrow your couch for a while?"

When Castiel was eleven, every morning for an entire month Gabriel had woken him with an air horn. It had taken years to work through the panic that used to seize in his chest whenever he heard one. The older boy had wrapped the toilet in plastic wrap, mixed bottles of soap with food coloring, poured soy sauce in half his cokes, and replaced entire packages of vanilla pudding with mayonnaise. Even now, nearly fifteen years later, Castiel still couldn't enjoy what used to be his favorite treat. As much as he knew he would regret it, Castiel's conscience would allow him no other course of action. He sighed, rolling his eyes heavenward in silent prayer, as he answered, "Of course, Gabriel. You are always welcome."

"Thanks, little bro," Gabriel grinned, pushing his chair from the table and standing to stretch his arms over his head. "And hey, if you're not doing anything today, want to brave the dragon's keep with me?" At Castiel's blank look, his grin widened. "I need clothes and Anna waitresses on Saturdays. Thanks," he called, without waiting for an answer and strode from the room, whistling tunelessly.

Castiel leaned his hip against the counter and shoved a hand through his hair. It had been years since he'd lived with Gabriel. Perhaps the man had matured in that time. He pictured his brother riding piggy back on a stranger. _"I'm taller'n you, Castiel!"_ he'd laughed. Castiel pulled out his aspirin and popped the cap, swallowing a couple without bothering with the coffee to wash it down. Then he moved to the refrigerator and added to his shopping list 'aspirin' in careful letters.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean woke sometime around noon, sitting up in bed and staring blankly at the posters on the wall for several minutes until the blurred images of various cars, and the beautiful women bent over them, became clear. Then, deciding it was safe to get up, he threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching his arms over his head and making a face at the taste of stale liquor and morning breath. After a quick shower and a thorough brushing of his teeth, Dean headed down stairs for something to shut up his growling stomach. "Dean," Sam snapped as Dean's foot hit the last step and he jolted at the sudden noise, slipping so that he fell back and landed on his ass. Dean shot his brother a dirty look as he pushed himself up and tried to ignore the pain in his tailbone. Sam only lifted a brow, not the least bit apologetic. "You want to tell me what the hell last night was about?" Sam snapped, following as Dean stomped through their living room to the kitchen.

"Fuck you," Dean replied, though there was no fire in the words. He pulled open the fridge and took a quick inventory. A few bottles of beer and a half carton of eggs two weeks past their date. Dean made a face of disgust as he closed the door. He turned for the cabinet and let out a startled "Dude" when he found Sam standing just behind him. He quickly sidestepped his younger brother, checking through the cabinets for something edible.

"Come on, Dean," Sam tried again, his voice softening with a pleading tone that Dean knew had gotten his brother what he wanted on many occasions. "Tell me what's going on. We can work through it together."

"Hey," Dean interrupted, turning on his heel to face Sammy with his eyes narrowed and a hand held up in warning. "No chick flick moments." His eyes landed on the pantry door behind Sam and he pushed his brother out of the way to check inside. Then he slammed the door with a groan that was echoed by his empty stomach. A few scattered packages of Ramen, a mostly empty bag of plain potato chips and a small box of white rice were not the best makings for any meal, much less a decent lunch. "Why you gotta be such a college kid?" he growled, throwing his hands up in disgust.

Sam shrugged. "I might have gone shopping if you'd called to say you were coming home early. Speaking of which, what happened?" Dean was about to snap back, to tell Sam to mind his own damn business, but something in his face must have given him away because Sam spoke up before he could say anything. "Lisa called." And with just those two words, Dean felt all the anger and annoyance drain from him to be replaced by resignation and fatigue.

He spotted the keys to the impala on the counter and grabbed them up, tossing them to his brother who caught them easily. "Well, take me to get some food first," he told the other man as he reached for his jacket. "No way in Hell am I going to deal with this sober _and_ hungry."

Sam grinned victoriously and headed for the door. "Sure. Then after, we can go pick up the other car from the Crossroads. If the piece of shit is still there." The words sounded almost hopeful, as if he wished someone would steal the junk car.

An hour later found the two sitting at their favorite table at their favorite diner, a greasy burger in front of Dean and a fresh salad in front of Sam. Dean made a face at his brother's meal before taking a large bite of his burger, closing his eyes as he savored the flavor. No one made a burger quite like Rufus, and Dean had sampled enough truck-stop burgers to know. Sam waited as Dean chewed, pushing the lettuce around on his plate with a fork and tapping the fingers of his free hand with increasing speed on the tabletop. "Well?" he asked, after Dean had devoured half his burger.

Dean rolled his eyes, letting the burger fall to his plate as he sat back on the vinyl covered bench. "Ruby," he spat and Sam's brows furrowed briefly in confusion, then cleared as realization crossed his face.

"Oh," he breathed, leaning from the table as he watched his brother. "Ruby," he repeated with a nod.

Dean sighed, rubbing a tired hand over his face. Ruby had tried more than once to trick Sam into signing the same contract that kept Dean trapped at Hellhounds. Dean had always managed to interfere, and finally just stopped taking Sam with him when he went to the city. Even if his brother felt guilty about Dean paying for the bills and for his schooling, there was no way he'd allow Sammy to ruin his future. He'd already failed Jo, and even Amy. But Sammy, Sammy he would keep safe. "The movie is shit to begin with," Dean said, taking another quick bite of his burger.

Sam nodded, drizzling low-fat ranch over his salad. "Most pornos are," he said. "But it's not really the story anyone pays attention to, is it?" he finished, waggling his brows with a grin. Dean chuckled his agreement.

"Yeah," he said out loud. "But this one really takes the pie. It's about these two brothers who go around hunting creatures."

"Like bears and deer?" Sam asked, wondering as he chewed a crisp cucumber just how that would fit into a porno. Maybe a sexy bear costume? He tried to picture it and failed.

But Dean shook his head. "Like witches and ghosts," he clarified, rolling his eyes at the stupidity of it. Sam snorted into his glass and fought back a laugh as he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. "Shut up," the shorter man snapped, though he'd had nearly the same reaction when he and Lisa had gone over the script. "I already said it was shit."

"Okay, okay," Sam laughed again and tried to pull a straight face. He only barely succeeded. "So what happens?" he asked, spearing another forkful of his salad.

Dean waited until his brother was chewing before he answered. "The brothers come to investigate the disappearance of a few dudes, and find a coven of witches using sex to kill men." Sam tried to laugh mid-chew and ended up choking on his rabbit food instead. Dean sat back with a grin, the taller man's face growing redder as he fought for air.

"That's retarded," Sam said when he'd finally regained the power and breath to speak, several minutes and half a burger later.

"Yup," Dean agreed his face darkening as he continued. "Ruby leads the coven. We got three scenes," he lifted his brows meaningfully then, just to be sure Sam understood what sort of scenes he meant.

Sam hissed, "Ouch."

"Yeah, that's not the worst part," Dean went on. "I got one with Jo, and then a threesome with Tessa and Bela." Sam's eyes grew wide and he opened his mouth, but Dean shook a hand at him. "Wait for it: Garth is my brother, but most of his scenes are with Amy and Meg."

Silence fell between them, interrupted by the clatter of dishware and conversations from other tables. "Son of a bitch," Sam finally said softly, leaning his elbows on the table, his half eaten salad forgotten between them. "Are they trying to screw you or what?" Dean threw his arms out, his face arranged to say 'I know, right?' without actually using the words. Sam pushed back from the table, running his finger over the surface. "Amy, huh?"

Dean nodded, his eyes falling from his brother's face to follow the patterns of cracks in the vinyl under his hands. "Yeah," he said softly. Amy Pond and Sam used to be inseparable, best friends with Jo all through school. If he could take back the day he'd been young and stupid enough to introduce Ruby to his friends, even as a co-worker, he'd give just about anything to have it undone.

Sam cleared his throat, obviously still trying to work past that loss. "Tessa, right?" Dean nodded, trailing his fingers over those cracks now. "Didn't you and she have that fling?"

Dean sighed. "Yeah, that's her." Saucy Tessa McKeon, with her better-than-you attitude and incredible legs. They'd managed a relationship for all of three months before she'd shown him just why that was the sort of thing that people in their line of work couldn't have. He'd been lucky enough not to work with her again in the last four years, but he supposed all things came due sooner or later.

"And wasn't Meg the chick—"

"Yeah," Dean snapped, the word coming out more sharply than he'd intended. But that always happened when he remembered that particular gold-digging bitch. He met Meg Masters only two months before his first contract with Hellhounds expired. She'd lied to and manipulated him at every turn, then walked away with his paycheck, the one he'd been hoping would keep him and Sammy afloat long enough for Dean to get a 'real' job. Sam was still in high school, but they were days from getting kicked out of their late father's house and losing the car. Because of Meg, he'd had no choice but to take the five year contract Alistair had drawn up for him. If it hadn't been for Lisa's becoming his agent despite her unexpected pregnancy, Dean didn't know what sort of position he'd be in now, but he couldn't imagine it would be good.

"Bela," Sam said thoughtfully, reaching again for his fork to pick at his salad. "Was she the one who—"

"Yes," Dean snarled, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He'd thought Bela Talbot was like him, tricked into a contract she didn't really want, though she'd been handling it better than he had the first time they had met, nearly three years ago. When he found what he thought was a loophole in his contract, he called Lisa. Had things gone his way, he would have been released from his deal three years and three films early, and had every intention of bringing Bela out with him. But things never went his way. Bela had overheard his conversation and gone straight to Alistair with her own attempt to quit the job. Things had gone sour for her and she'd saved him the trouble of finding out just how bad they could go but that was beyond the point. She'd stabbed him in the back, just like every other bitch at Hellhounds. He was glad that self-serving attitude had landed her in deeper shit, but it didn't mean he ever wanted to see her again, much less work another film with her.

Sam let out a low whistle, sitting back in his seat. Then his brows pulled together, his eyes flicking quickly so that Dean could tell he was trying to figure something out. "Should I know who Garth is?" the taller man finally asked, reaching out for his tea.

Dean rolled his eyes, pushing away the anger for the moment as he remembered the scrawny man who would be playing his brother. "Nah," he said aloud, and polished off the last few fries scattered on his plate. "Not unless you've been watching my films behind my back." He narrowed his eyes at his brother then, trying to decide if that might be something Sammy had actually done.

Sam snorted doubtfully. "Trust me, Dean, you're not in any of the porn I watch."

"Good," Dean said with a short nod and changed the subject back to Garth, which held less a chance of embarrassing him. "He just gets on my nerves. No alcohol tolerance, you know, so he ain't even good to drink with."

Sam laughed a little around his straw before his face turned serious again. "Damn, Dean," he said, shaking his head. "It's no wonder you got so drunk last night."

He nodded, then grinned at Sammy. "Was I really that far gone?" he asked, though he knew from his blurred memory of the night that he had been.

Sam grinned at him. "Dude, you were downright friendly. I think we both know how many drinks it takes you to get there," he told Dean, scooting across the bench to stand from the table. "You owe me three hundred bucks, by the way," he said as he pulled out his wallet and dropped a few wrinkled bills on the table.

Dean snorted as he stood. Sam had to know that he was never paying that back. "Thanks, Rufus," he called, waving at the older man when he looked up from the register. Sam just nodded to him on his way out the door, squinting against the bright sun after the dim lighting in the diner.

They clambered into the impala and Sam glanced at his brother as he passed over the keys into his expectant hand. "So," he started, waiting for the rumbling of the car's engine starting to smooth out before asking, "Why didn't you just get drunk in LA? There are plenty enough bars over there that would have been faster and easier to get to."

"It was worth the drive to not be in the same town as any of those bitches," Dean replied instantly as he fiddled with the radio.

Sam nodded his understanding. "So, what do you remember from last night?"

Dean lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug as he pulled the car from the lot and turned her towards the Crossroads. Blue eyes, he remembered. An intense sort of blue. He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs of too much alcohol and not enough sleep. "Not much," he finally said. "Some short guy with a lot of girl trouble." His brows pulled together for a moment and then his face broke out into a wide grin as he sent a quick look at Sam. "That guy threw up on you, didn't he?" Sam's cheeks pinked, a sure sign to the positive, and Dean laughed. Then laughed again when they pulled into the Crossroads lot and Sam spat a curse. The shit car was still there, like a mutt waiting for his master.


	8. Chapter 8

Sam sighed, scooting his chair back from his desk to let his head fall. He was exhausted. The weeks were fine enough and all, alone as he was at the house. He spent his time studying, sometimes walking down the street to help Bobby with odd jobs at the scrapyard for a few extra bucks. But the weekends, oh the weekends! Dean drove down each Friday for the last three weeks and spent the better part of the entire weekend completely sloshed. Thankfully, tomorrow was Sunday and Dean would have to get his act together to make it back to LA before the end of the day.

Instantly, Sam felt guilty. Sure it was a hassle trying to keep up with his brother when the other decided to drink himself to obliviousness, and even now the whole living room was cluttered with empty beer and liquor bottles that he would have to clean up. But Sam really couldn't blame him. He'd learned long ago that it was better to forgive and forget some things rather than dwelling on them, so he held no real grudge against Ruby Cortese, even for Jo and Amy. They were grown women who had made a decision. He didn't agree with it, but neither was it his business. Dean, though, didn't seem to see anything so simply and carried the weight of guilt for more people than Sam was sure he knew about. Nothing he said could convince his brother that the situation was not his fault. Dean hated Ruby and that was that.

Were it only her, Sam was sure his brother would have no problem at least pretending everything was normal. But Alistair Heyerdahl and the other fat cats at Hellhounds must have been watching Dean since the beginning to pull together a cast so ruinous to the man's self-control, and Sam could easily believe the theory Lisa had shared when they'd spoken the morning after Dean's first bender. If Alistair wasn't out to get Dean, someone sure as hell was. Sam shouldn't be wishing him back to that, no matter how much a pain his brother could be.

Sam shifted so his cheek was against the worn desk, staring at the bare wall to his right. College was starting in just a few days. Soon that wall would be papered with class schedules and post it notes, reminders to do this, or that, or some other thing. Just now though, there was nothing there to distract Sam from his thoughts, and the one he'd been trying to avoid was slowly but surely snaking its way to the front of his consciousness. In the three weeks since he'd finally come out to Dean, his older brother hadn't mentioned it again, even to joke about it. More than anything else, that was a sure sign that he was not as ok with it as he'd said.

Sam sighed, closing his eyes against the pain in his chest. Dean was the only real family he had left and he had needed his brother to be ok with it. Somehow, even if the rest of the world could care less about his homosexuality, if Dean couldn't accept it, Sam was still a freak. But Dean had enough on his plate, and Sam couldn't distract him from having to deal with that just because he was feeling a little insecure. He knew his brother almost as well as he knew himself. If he tried to force the issue, it might just be that last straw. No, better he should wait, at least until Dean had managed to work his way through his issues with his film.

Having come to the decision, Sam still felt that he had only added to Dean's burden, and at the worst possible time, too. With a grunt of disgust at himself, Sam sat straight, then stood from the desk, stretching his long legs for the first time in hours. What good would come in worrying about it really? What would happen would happen. Best thing he could do was make sure the fridge stayed full with enough booze to keep Dean from wasting all his money at overpriced bars. He reached his arms behind his back, making a face at the popping in his limbs, then headed down the hall from his room.

It was early morning, and judging from the loud snores rumbling out of Dean's room, his older brother had finally managed to pass out. Sam paused for a moment, looking at Dean's door. His chest constricted again, and he frowned at the hardwood panel. There went his brain again thinking too damn much, he could almost hear Dean's voice telling him and he agreed with it. Shaking his head he jogged down the stairs, debating between beginning the task of cleaning up or finding some secret stash of beer Dean hadn't seen and following his brother's footsteps, at least for the night. When he found the fridge empty of all but a carton of expired milk, he was forced to start gathering the trash. An hour in his luck turned and, leaving a mostly full bag of trash sacked up by the front door, Sam took his bottle of Crown and went back to his room.

Dean woke him bright and early the next morning, leaving Sam staring agape at the other man for several minutes as he processed Dean's presence in his room at 8:30 on a Sunday morning. "Are… are you alright?" he asked hesitantly.

His brother sent him a look that very clearly said 'are you high?' "I'm great. School this week, right?" he asked, motioning to stack of folders and the book spread open on Sam's desk. Sam nodded and Dean grinned at him. "Right, so we need to go shopping, get some actual food in this place." Sam almost protested, ready to tell Dean that he could handle the grocery shopping on his own, but his stomach pre-empted him, a loud grumbling filling the silence in the room. Dean's brows lifted and his grin widened. "Take a shower," he ordered as he left the room, "and be quick about it, bitch."

"Jerk!" Sam yelled back automatically, but scrambled around the room searching for fresh clothes, if not clean ones. When Sam bought the groceries, he was always painfully aware that it was Dean's money and usually settled for the cheap stuff. Dean didn't offer to take care of groceries often, but when he went, he bought all the name brands, which tasted so much better. No way was Sam going to pass up that opportunity.

They were hardly at the grocery store for an hour when it started to crowd with people fresh out of church. Dean's expression went from cheerful to annoyed as lines lengthened and aisles filled, limiting the movement of their mostly full cart. "Damn it, you take it," he snarled, throwing his hands up and away from the handle bar. Sam rolled his eyes, but took over. He had more practice at this anyway. "I'm going to check out the cereal," Dean called as he disappeared into the crowd, not even giving Sam the chance to tell him that he never ate cereal. Too much sugar, especially in the ones that Dean picked.

Sam lifted on his toes but, having no luck at spotting Dean even then, he shrugged and aimed the cart for the vegetable aisle. As he was filing a bag with ripe tomatoes, someone bumped into him with a startled "My apologies." It was an unusual enough way to say sorry that Sam turned to see just who had uttered it and was surprised to find he recognized the man.

"Oh, hey, uh…" he snapped his fingers as he tried to remember three weeks and many beers back. "Castiel Novak, right?" he finally recalled, grinning broadly as the shorter man looked back to him, his intense blue eyes staying long enough on Sam's face that he began to wonder if the man remembered him at all. Suddenly, those eyes widened and a deep flush came over the man's face. Sam laughed as he realized that the man certainly remembered him.

"Castiel," a cheerful voice called over the crowd. "You'll never guess who I just ran into…" Another man, shorter even than Castiel made his way to the blue eyed man's side, whatever he'd been about to say lost as his light brown eyes flicked between Sam and Castiel. Then he frowned, turning to Castiel. "You got it all wrong, little brother. You're supposed to pick up chicks at the grocery store, not this behemoth." Dean, having found Sam cornered, chuckled at that lesson as he dropped three boxes of sugar-filled cereal into their cart, and the stranger let out laugh of delight. "Well, holy hell. It's the sasquatch!" he cried, a grin lighting up his face as he elbowed Castiel's side. "Oh, come on, sasquatch, you remember me," he said, taking in Sam's blank look as he spread his hands out at his sides. "I threw up on you!"

Castiel's face turned four shades of embarrassment darker, Dean hunched over their cart as he struggled to keep in the laughter, and Sam just gaped at the man, who chattered on as if throwing up on a man was the best possible impression to leave someone. This was Gabriel? The drunken figure he'd helped at his brother's insistence? He could go the rest of his life without thinking about that night and be just fine. Sam pulled at the cart, forcing his brother up and angling it further down the aisle. "Nice meeting you again," he interrupted Gabriel, who pouted at their sudden need to leave, and nodded to Castiel, who shot him a thankful look.

Gabriel looked as if he might follow them, but Castiel placed a hand on his shoulder and murmured something in a low tone that didn't carry over the group of shoppers around them. Whatever it was had Gabriel shrugging. Then the man turned a brilliant smile to Dean and Sam, said "Call me next time you want to get drunk, Dean!" and waved enthusiastically before he turned to follow his brother.

"That dude is hilarious," Dean said, his face still red with laughter. "And I thought he was only like that because of the alcohol."

"That guy is a pain," Sam disagreed, frowning as he watched the brothers turn a corner. Then he turned back to picking out his vegetables. "Did you really get his phone number?"

Dean was still looking after them though, and apparently hadn't heard his brother. His voice had taken a note of seriousness as he murmured, so low Sam might not have heard if he hadn't been listening for a reply, "That Castiel, though. His eyes, right?"

Sam looked to his brother, brows furrowed. "What?" he asked, not sure he'd heard what he thought. Dean turned to him, face a mask of innocence that would have fooled anyone else. "What was that, about Castiel's eyes?" he clarified, flapping open another bag for the head of lettuce he'd selected.

"Nothing," Dean shrugged, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. "Just, he's super serious, isn't he? Didn't even crack a grin," he finished, turning his attention to a trim young mother pushing a giggling toddler in a pink stroller. The man who followed immediately after sent Dean a scowl, which he ignored, typical Dean.

Sam made some noise of assent and turned back to gathering his salad fixings. Personally, he thought Castiel's eyes were gorgeous, and the man himself quite the looker. But, having only the night before decided not to pressure Dean into accepting him, Sam said nothing and focused instead on keeping Dean from loading the cart with too much junk food. He knew he lost that battle as soon as they rounded the corner into the frozen pie aisle.


	9. Chapter 9

The early morning sun washed the world in faded light, the birds tweeting from the trees lining either side of the street. Only the occasional car passing ruined the peace of the moment, but Gabriel stayed still, arms spread across the top of the bus stop bench with his head resting back and his eyes closed. He breathed in deeply, holding that air in for a moment before letting it out with a smile curling the edges of his lips. He'd never admit it out loud, might even flat deny it should anyone ask just to be obstinate, but he loved the campus grounds. The smell of cut grass, the sun beating on the old brick and cinderblock buildings, and the passing conversations of students as they wandered between classes, all of it appealed to him, gave him a sense of peace he couldn't find anywhere else.

He took a few more deep breaths as he thought on the day to come. Scheduling had been cruel this semester, probably having something to do with his brief affair with the dean's secretary. All three of his courses started before noon, two of them right at eight. At least he was still allowed to set his own office hours, which Gabriel kept at the much more reasonable time of two in the afternoon and as soon as five came around, his day would officially be over. Which he supposed made him luckier than those teachers who had taken on the evening classes this go 'round. Poor bastards. At least he still had the option of a few drinks before bed.

The alarm on his cell buzzed in the pocket of his light leather jacket, indicating 7:40, and he let out an annoyed huff of breath. He could sit here for a while longer he supposed, but better to begin the slow walk to the classroom. He would hate to miss the opportunity the first day of school presented, with so many fresh students unaware that a professor walked among them. So he pushed off the bench, stretched his arms above his head then stuck his hands in his pockets, whistling low and tunelessly as he meandered across campus.

He'd only taken a few dozen steps before he spotted a familiar face and he grinned. "Sasquatch!" he yelled, hurrying forward to fall into pace with him.

The taller man looked around quickly then faced Gabriel. "Are you talking to me?" he asked, his brows knit together and his steps faltering.

Gabriel laughed. "You see any other freakishly tall individuals around here, Sasquatch?" He'd have to be blind to miss the look of annoyance that crossed the man's face then and his grin widened.

"I didn't realize you came here," the man said sourly, adjusting his backpack strap higher on his shoulder and his fingers ticking with agitation.

The shorter man took it all in, including the fact that as soon as they resumed their walk, the Sasquatch lengthened his paces in an attempt to leave Gabriel behind. "Aw, Sasquatch, what's the deal?" he whined, though he knew his grin was still firmly in place. "I throw up on you once and suddenly I'm not good company?"

He drew up short when the man stopped suddenly, spinning on his heel to glower down at Gabriel from his full height. "My name is Sam. Alright. Not Sasquatch. Sam."

"How about Sammy?" Gabriel interrupted with one of his more winning smiles.

The man shook his head, his bangs falling against his brow at the movement. "Not Sammy. Not Sasquatch. Just Sam. Or from you, nothing." He started to walk away then, pulling open the door to the building with a little more force than was strictly necessary.

Gabriel followed the man inside, forgetting for the moment his plans to move unnoticed by the students. This guy was more fun. And what luck! His class was in the same building as Gabriel's. Strike, that, he thought as they passed the stairs leading up. They were on the same floor. Gabriel could see a semester of mornings pestering this guy. Out loud, he called, "Aw, now, Sasquatch. I don't think you're nothing."

Sam stopped again then, his shoulders rising as he took what Gabriel hoped was a calming breath, before the man turned, pinning him again with that hazel glare. "I don't want you to call me anything because I'd rather have nothing to do with you. I try not to hang out with guys who think it is okay to puke on people."

Gabriel threw his hands up. "Hey, I apologized for that. A few times I think…" he trailed off as he saw Sam reach for the handle of the classroom door marked D109. "Is this your class?" he asked, pulling on the man's backpack to keep him from going in. A pair of girls walked around them and pulled the door open, entering without sparing either man a glance.

Sam pulled away, rolling his eyes and adjusting his pack again. "Yes." He reached for the door again, forcing a smile as another group of students entered before him.

Gabriel ignored them, keeping his face carefully straight and nodding. "And is it what you would call a required course?"

"It is for Sociology majors," Sam snapped, glancing down at his watch. "Now if you don't mind, I'd rather not be late on the first day."

"I have to tell you something, Sammy," Gabriel announced, clapping a hand on the taller man's shoulder and ignoring his concern about tardiness. Sam's face was stuck somewhere between annoyance at the nickname and curiosity. Gabriel could practically hear the thoughts- what could you possibly have to say to me? His phone vibrated again in his pocket, the second alarm set for just a few minutes before class was scheduled to start. Gabriel motioned Sam to lean down a bit, and his curiosity must have won out because the other man grudgingly complied. Keeping his voice low, because everything sounded more mysterious and foreboding when spoken in a whisper, Gabriel told him, "Things are going to get real awkward for you in about three minutes."

"Right," Sam scoffed, shaking his head as if scolding himself for thinking Gabriel might have something useful to say. "Excuse me," he said, brushing Gabriel's hand from his shoulder and finally entering the room.

Gabriel grinned as the door closed with the heavy thud that only doors in colleges seemed to have. Then he pulled his phone from his pocket and watched the minutes tick by. At 8 o'clock on the dot, he slipped his phone back into his pocket and threw open the classroom door, striding in like he owned the room, because hey. For all intents and purposes, he did. "Good morning class, and welcome to History of World Religions. If that's not what you signed up for, you're in the wrong room, so get out," he said, grabbing a marker and scrawling the course name on the white board. "I'm Mr. Novak," he continued, grin widening when he turned to find Sammy half out of his desk, face slack with shock. "Have a seat, Sasquatch. We can talk after class." As he continued with his course description and synopsis, he watched Sam slip back into his desk, hunched over as if to draw as little attention to himself as possible. It was all Gabriel could do not to laugh at the sight. Ungodly early or not, this semester just got awesome, he decided.


	10. Chapter 10

Castiel allowed himself a small smile as he settled back in the break room of the public library Monday afternoon. The smell of books and the hush atmosphere always calmed his nerves, and after the past weekend, he needed the break from his brother. Gabriel had attended a week's worth of meetings in preparation for the first day of school, and had insisted on spending his last weekend "as a free man" as wildly as legally possible outside of Vegas. Castiel had managed to pull the man to church that Sunday, a first, but Gabriel managed to muck that up as well. Bad enough that he refused to read from the hymn book when the time came to lift their voices in song to praise the Lord, but he made up his own words, many of them not… child-friendly. It would be a long time before Castiel invited his brother back to church and at least as long before he would get over his embarrassment enough to reclaim his aisle seat on the front pew. Then to have the misfortune of running into Sammy and Dean immediately thereafter? Yes, Castiel was very happy to return to the comforting atmosphere of work.

His lunch break was almost over and Castiel stood from the table, running a hand through his hair and straightening his tie in the small mirror on the wall to the right of the door. It opened just as he was reaching for it, and his co-worker Rafaela Ware paused just inside the room. She quickly schooled the surprise from her face to offer him the wide smile that helped to make her popular as the children's librarian. "There is a man at the front desk asking for you specifically, Castiel," she told him, and reached up to smooth stray hairs into her ponytail. "And if he asks, I'm single. Just saying," she finished with a shrug and turned from him, walking across the room to the small fridge that held employee lunches.

"Thank you," he replied, trying not to look too confused at the news, and slipped through the door. Anyone who might visit him at work, namely Gabriel, had already been explained the importance of maintaining a professional image. He couldn't imagine who else might bother. Even with his back to him, Castiel recognized the man who stood a few feet from the desk, holding himself carefully apart from everything and everyone else, as if one touch might contaminate. "Hello, Michael," Castiel greeted his brother cautiously. An investment banker, Michael Novak rarely left the city and never to visit his brothers, both of whom he believed had left the fold. That he was standing in the entrance of the library Castiel worked in was not a good sign.

"Castiel," his brother replied, neither his voice nor his blue eyes revealing any of the warmth one might expect between brothers. "We need to talk. Privately," he clarified, his gaze darting about the near empty room.

He wanted to tell his brother that he was at work, and this issue, whatever it was, would have to wait. Perhaps even say that Michael should call him later that night. But this was Michael, his eldest brother and the head of their family, who had raised him since his fifth year. Even now, a man full grown, Castiel could still feel the pressure to simply do as Michael ordered. So with a nod, he followed the man from the library, arms and hands held carefully still so as not to betray the nervousness that still thrummed through him around his older brother.

Michael wasted no time for small talk. As soon as he and Castiel were alone in the small garden behind the library, he turned and pinned the shorter man with his icy glare. "I understand that you have taken Gabriel into your home."

Castiel didn't bother asking how he knew. Somehow, Michael always knew. He frowned though, at the stark disapproval radiating in the words and in his brother's stance. "Yes, of course. Gabriel is…"

Michael would not let him finish, his words cutting through Castiel's confirmation. "Gabriel is reaping the results of his misdeeds. Accepting him into your home will only bring you misfortune, and teach him that there is always someone else to take responsibility for him."

Castiel stared at his brother in shock. Michael was not Gabriel, so he knew for fact that he was serious in his reprimand. "Do you…" he paused, almost afraid of the reply he would be given. "Do you suggest I leave our brother alone in his time of need?" Castiel held his breath. Surely, even Michael could not be so cold-hearted. Gabriel was family, no matter his actions. It was not their place to judge.

Michael's eyes narrowed. "It is my understanding that Gabriel is still employed. He is hardly helpless. If you carry the weight of those who might carry their own, you will fall." It was the same lesson Michael had tried so often to teach Castiel as he grew, and was one that he simply could not accept. "Send him away, before his actions bring God's wrath upon you." His brother's gaze softened slightly, and he placed an unusually gentle hand on Castiel's shoulder. "He is our brother, and I know you want to love him for that alone. But even your church must draw a line to hold against the sinners."

Michael was rigid in his belief, that so many fell short of faith. But Castiel believed that every man had value in God's eyes, even the unrepentant sinners. In his whole life, Castiel had only once defied his brother, and even now he marked it as one of the finest decisions in his thirty years. It was still a terrifying thought that he would have to do it again, but he knew, in the heart of his soul, that his brother was wrong. "Gabriel is our brother, Michael. I will always be there for him, and for you."

His attempt to soften his disagreement with Michael went unnoticed, and his brother's hand dropped from his shoulder to curl into a fist at his side. Castiel knew the man was not often contradicted, but he held firm despite the anger snapping in his brother's eyes, anger that did not otherwise show on his face and so was all the more terrifying. "Do you condone his actions, then?"

"Of course not," Castiel answered immediately and continued before Michael had the chance to interrupt, "But it is not my place to decide if those actions make him unworthy. He is still my brother and he still needs me. This could be an opportunity for him to regain his faith. Not as a Catholic or even a Methodist, but as a Christian, should we not do everything we can restore that?"

"Gabriel is a lost cause," Michael snapped so fiercely that Castiel stepped back. "And I see now that you are, as well." It was like a slap to the face, but Michael did not stand by to see the results of his words, turning with military precision and stalking away.

His lunch break was well over and the library was expecting an afternoon visit of students from a private school with which Rafaela would need assistance. There were half a dozen things beside he still need to take care of before he might call his day finished, but just now, Castiel couldn't think on any of them. He took the few steps to the bench and sank down. For so many years, Castiel had engineered his every action with the goal of gaining his brother's approval. When he'd switched churches, he accepted that he never would, but to be called a lost cause by the only father figure he had ever really known shattered the last bit of hope he still held. Folding his hands together, Castiel bowed his head, praying for the strength to act normally through his work, praying that Gabriel would not prove the lost cause Michael had declared him, and mostly praying for Michael, because his brother needed it, even if he didn't believe it.

**A/N: I may have taken a few liberties with Raphael… **


	11. Chapter 11

Dean's cell vibrated in his pocket, the sharp beats of Sammy's ringtone muffled by the heavy denim of his jeans. He ignored it, as he had each of the six times before. It was Saturday night and the sun had already set on a world Dean had decided too fucked up for even drinking to fix. He made his way across the cemetery, weaving between headstones in the last bit of light before full dark came upon him, a mismatched collection of hastily gathered late summer flowers in one hand and a bottle of Jack in the other. He didn't need to see to know when he'd reached his parents' graves; he knew the place by heart, though he usually avoided it. Cemeteries were not his thing, at least not at any other time. But at rare moments like this, when he felt on the very edge of giving up, he found his way back.

"Hi, Mom," he greeted her softly, setting the flowers with care at the edge of her headstone. He let his fingers trace the flowing script. Mary Winchester, beloved wife and mother. The words held nothing of the beautiful and feisty woman she had been and so could never really do her justice. Some things were hard to fit on a single stone block.

He let his hand fall away and shuffled the few feet to the next headstone. Smaller and less worn with the passage of time than his mother's stone, the bold lettering still stood in stark contrast on the dark granite. John Winchester. Just a name and the date. It was all Dean had been able to afford, but he'd always figured his Dad would have preferred it kept simple. He settled himself on the grass next to the stone, leaning his shoulder against it as he let his legs stretch off to the side. "Hey, dad," he finally greeted his father. "It's been a few years, I know. Sammy's doing great. Graduates this year, with honors probably," he said, pulling open his Jack and taking a swig. "Don't expect any grandkids from him though. He told me, get this, he's gay." Dean could picture the look of shock on his father's face and felt the shame wash over him again. "I can't figure out where I went wrong. He's says it's not because of the porn, but I don't know…"

Dean took another drink, letting the whiskey burn down his throat. "It's not even that he's gay, Dad, not all of it anyway. It's just… I didn't have a freaking clue. There's this whole side of him that I never knew existed." Really, that was what hurt the most. He was supposed to look after Sammy, to take care of him, and the whole time his brother was keeping this from him. There was a gap between them that he'd never known was there, and now that he did, it just kept growing. He knew it was his fault, that he should just let go and trust that Sam was doing what was right for himself. But he couldn't, and it made things at home uncomfortable.

"Work is worse," he admitted. They were four weeks into work on the film and they might as well have had a thousand left. Ruby Cortese seemed determined to piss Dean off at every opportunity. And when it was as simple as the bitch lifting a single brow in his direction, it made for a very tense atmosphere. Even those days when he was fortunate enough not to see the brunette, he couldn't forget about her. Jo and Amy tried to talk with him like old friends, and Dean tried to follow the same flirty routine he used on waitresses and bartenders, but it was difficult. The girls grew up with him and Sammy. Jo had been just down the road for the better part of his childhood. "I haven't told Ellen yet, and I don't think Jo has either. Least, I haven't heard anything from her or Bobby. Wouldn't even know what the hell I'd say."

He tipped the bottle up and swallowed more of his liquor, pleased at the slight tingling that came to his fingers. "That bitch Bela keeps looking at me like she's got some plan and Tessa…" he shook his head. "She's just being Tessa, but that's enough to make any man miserable." He let out a bitter laugh. "The worst part is I wasn't going to quit. Contract's up in a few months and I was going to make Lisa renew it. Hell, the money ain't bad for the time it takes, and there are worse things I could be doing. I've even won a few awards. But now, I can't wait to get the fuck out of there." And he really couldn't. He and Lisa talked so big about his holding strong and for the last week, all he could think about was breaking his contract and high-tailing it back home. Sammy was the only reason he'd held out for as long as he had, and with their relationship so strained, Dean wasn't sure how much longer that would keep him in check. "I just… don't know what to do, Dad," he confessed, his voice a harsh whisper. He'd thought he was stronger. "I wish you were here." He let his head fall against the stone, the neck of the bottle clenched in his hand as he let the peace and silence of the cemetery calm his raw nerves.

It was several minutes before he heard it, before his heart slowed enough that the soft humming carrying on the breeze could reach his ears, and he listened to it, trying to place the familiar tune. Amazing Grace. Someone else was out there in the cemetery, in the dark, humming "Amazing Grace". The sweet tune gave way to soft words, and Dean listened in silence for a moment. Then he pushed himself up, using his father's stone as support, and quietly made his way through the dark towards the low voice. A few crooked rows back and a mere two stones over, in the newer section of the cemetery, Dean found the source.

The headstone was large, the carved image of an angel gleaming in the dim light of a moon only just beginning to rise. A young tree rose up nearby, just inside the low stone border that marked a family plot and a figure knelt in the dark, his long coat spread behind him as he leaned forward. After a few moments of watching silently, Dean realized the man was pulling weeds from a plant growing at the base of the stone, white flowers almost glowing in the dark. There was something familiar about the set of the man's shoulders, and Dean listened as he sang another verse. There was definitely something familiar about that voice.

Sammy's chose that moment to try and call him again. Even through his pocket, the ringtone sounded loud and grating after the smooth hymn, and Dean hastily pulled out his phone to hit the ignore button. Well, there was no way the man hadn't heard that. Dean tried to think of a reasonable excuse for standing in the dark watching some guy in the middle of the cemetery. He couldn't, but he chanced a glance up anyway, his lips curling into a grin of relief when he realized he knew the man. Somehow, he felt less like a creeper. And it made the awkwardness of the situation easier to play off. Lifting the hand still holding his phone, Dean gave the man a wave. "Hey, Castiel," he greeted the man, moving from the shadows enough that the moon, however dim, might illuminate his face enough for the other man to recognize him.

For several minutes, the man looked at him in silence. "Good evening, Dean," came his low reply, and Castiel sat back on his feet, seemingly careless of the dirt and bits of grass clinging to his slacks. "I apologize for disturbing you," Castiel told him after several moments of silence. "It is rare for anyone else to be here so late."

Dean waved off the apologies. He was the one who'd shown up and listened in like a stalker. "No worries. I was just…having a drink with my dad," he finished, holding up the partially empty bottle.

"Ah," Castiel murmured, and even in the dark, Dean knew the man was watching him with pity in those striking eyes. He cleared his throat, slipping his phone back into his pocket with one hand as the fingers of the other toyed with the lip of the bottle. "I was singing to my mother," Castiel finally told him, motioning with one hand to the angel headstone, then brushing his fingers over the glowing blossoms.

Dean edged closer. Maybe because he'd first heard it when he'd been drunk, but Castiel's voice was soothing and he wondered briefly if he could get the other man to keep talking. "Amazing Grace," right?" he asked, near enough then to see the smile that curved Castiel mouth. He hid his surprise. Just because he'd never seen the fellow smile before, even with that crack-up of a brother, didn't mean he couldn't.

"Yes," Castiel spoke, his words pulling Dean from his thoughts, "it was my mother's favorite. She would sing it to me when I woke with bad dreams. 'Twas grace that taught me how to fear and Grace, my fears relieved," he sang softly, leaning forward to pull out a few more weeds. Dean listened as Castiel continued humming. Then the man stood, pausing for a moment with one hand atop the stone and his eyes closed, lips moving silently. "Thank you," he told Dean, and Dean lifted a brow in question. "My mother passed on when I was five. I come to visit every so often, but this is the first time I am not pained by it. I must believe it is due to your presence. You have a very calming air about you."

Dean's eyebrows lifted to his hair. He'd never been called a calming influence before. A generally negative one, even a strong one, but never calming. He smiled back, falling into step with Castiel as the man moved to the pebbled path leading back to the cemetery entrance. "My mother died when I was young, too," he confessed, and the other man nodded, his smile turning sad. "She used to sing me to sleep with 'Hey, Jude,'" he laughed, and was pleased when Castiel joined him. As they passed his parents' stones, Dean lifted his bottle and took a long drink of the burning liquor.

Castiel's eyes were on him again. He could feel it, like the man could look straight to his soul with only a glance, and then the feeling was gone as Castiel looked ahead again. "It may not be my place to say," Castiel began, his soft voice sounding almost hesitant now, "but you seem to be drinking in excess. Perhaps there is something wrong?"

It was an invitation, pretty clear actually, to talk over whatever issues he might have had. Dean snorted softly. Chick flick stuff. The guy was probably as bad as Sammy, and if he wasn't going to go to his brother, there was no way he would talk to a stranger. "Thanks," he said aloud, "but that's what the alcohol is for. Uncle Bobby always says, just because it kills your liver doesn't mean it ain't medicine." He took another drink.

Castiel nodded, seeming to not be offended. Dean was grateful for it. He supposed there were enough people he could offend pretty easily without adding one more. "I am not a doctor, but that does not seem healthy," he said, and Dean grinned his agreement. He didn't say that it made no difference. Drinking made things at least appear better, if only for a while. They reached the edge of the path, the large wrought iron gates open to the mostly empty parking lot, and Castiel turned to him. "Thank you again," the shorter man said, fumbling in the pockets of his trench coat. "Should you decide to try a different sort of medicine, please come talk to me." Castiel pulled a card from his pocket and, glancing at it quickly as if to make sure he'd gotten the right one, he handed it to Dean. "Of course, I'm sure my brother is still available if you choose to continue your current therapy," he finished with a wry smile. Then with a slight nod in farewell, Castiel turned and strode away.

Dean watched him get into a light colored sedan and drive away before heading to his Impala, pulling the bottle's lid from his pocket to close it. No point in wasting good whiskey. Once inside his car, he set his bottle on the floorboard and used the light from his phone to read the card. Then he looked back up at the taillights turning the corner at the end of the road. Castiel Novak, Librarian. He tossed the card and his phone to the passenger seat before heading home himself. The night was young, his problems weren't gone, and he hadn't had near enough to drink to even pretend they were, but for the first time in a month, Dean wasn't thinking about them. He was too busy thinking about those intense eyes on his. If Castiel Novak could look into his soul, what would he see?

**A/N: Funny enough, I wrote this before watching the Weeping Angel episode of Doctor Who, and now I'm sort of scared of that angel on Cas' mom's grave. Haha.**


	12. Chapter 12

"Cut!" yelled Fergus Crowley, his tone sharp as he waved his assistant away and stood from his chair. "Let's take fifteen." Dean let out a sigh of relief and stepped back from Meg and Ruby. They'd been working on this scene alone for half the day, and right now he couldn't find it in himself to care that Crowley was obviously disgusted with his performance. Meg slapped his ass as she passed by, winking at him, and Ruby laughed as she followed. Dean had heard somewhere that people didn't quit jobs, they quit people. Both women seemed determined to prove it true, and the pain from the knot of stress that had settled just under his left shoulder served a constant reminder, as if he'd needed one, that he was not among friends.

They were shooting on location today, which meant their set was actually some fancy house Dean was sure no ordinary housewife would be running without a maid or two to back her up. Both women were heading for the catering table in the spacious kitchen so even though Dean was hungry, he wasn't going near it. Instead, he walked the opposite way, passing Crowley as the man argued with the writer. Chuck Shurley was a mild-mannered fellow on a normal day. But with Crowley in his face and short his six glasses of alcohol, the man was guaranteed to cave to whatever it was the director wanted. In Dean's experience, it usually wasn't good. Crowley's rewrites might be some of the most popular scenes in any movie he directed, but the man seemed to take personal pleasure in making Dean uncomfortable, and somehow knew just exactly how to do it. The bastard.

Garth was in his folding chair, thin legs crossed as he chatted up one of the make-up girls. She scurried off as Dean approached, and Garth turned to face him, his mouth turned up in that silly grin. "Now, buddy, there's no point in mean-mugging the innocents," he scolded Dean, waving a hand in the chick's direction.

Dean barely spared him a glance as he snorted and settled himself into his own chair. He grabbed the bottle of water from the tall table beside him and watched the on-going discussion between Chuck and Crowley. Even from across the living room of the house they were calling 'the set', Dean could see Chuck sweating, his hands twisting nervously on his copy of the script. Dean gave the man another two minutes before Crowley got his way. Crowley always got his way. "I'm noticing some tension between you and Ruby," Garth said, the first of his incessant chatter to break through to Dean, and he turned a glare on the other man, a clear warning to mind his own business that went unheeded. "Got the gossip mills running non-stop trying to figure out what happened between you two. All kinds of rumors, like maybe she's the mother of your –"

"Garth," Dean snapped, and Garth turned a too innocent look towards him, "shut up." The other actor grinned and started to say something more, but a glance over Dean's shoulder had him clamming up. He grabbed his own water bottle and clapped a hand on Dean's shoulder, before hopping down from his chair and strolling to the kitchen and the array of food it offered. Dean shifted to watch him go, his momentary confusion clearing when he saw Crowley headed his way. Fifteen minute break, and poor Chuck had taken up four, leaving Crowley with fully eleven minutes to rip Dean a new one. Dean took another swig of water, wishing as he had at least a dozen times already that the bottle held something stronger. Like vodka.

Crowley gave him a tight smile as he approached, and it said something about the month that Dean had had that he couldn't even muster up a simple one in return. He had to save all his acting for the damn camera. Crowley didn't seem to notice though, shoving his hands into the pockets of his dark slacks and rocking back on his heels. "Well, Dean, will you be offering excuses for that abysmal performance, then?" he drawled, that damn accent of his grating on Dean's nerves. Dean took in a deep breath, leaned back in his chair, tried to ignore the headache he could feel growing at the base of his skull, and finally shook his head to the negative. "Just as well," Crowley told him, turning his head as he scanned over 'the set', actors chatting and the small crew scurrying to reset the foyer scene. "Your excuses are almost as painful as those last few takes. So, let's get your head out of that shapely ass and possibly film something worth keeping. Right," he snapped when Dean only stared at the man in shock- _shapely ass?_- so the younger man jerked his head in a nod. "Right. You'll get the new pages in a few hours. We've taken Meg out of the scene. She didn't have any lines so it shouldn't be too much of an adjustment, even for you."

Dean sat straight then, brows knit together in confusion as his hand tightened reflexively on his water bottle. "Meg is out?" he managed.

Crowley turned his wandering attention back to Dean, taking in his tense posture. Then he gave the same tight smile he did each and every time Dean did something to annoy him, though he sensed that this time it wasn't directed to him. "Oh, don't get too excited. She's not completely out," he spat, and Dean thought he could hear something close to hatred in that clipped tone. "We've simply adjusted the definition of her character."

Dean shook his head as he shifted back into his chair. He'd say the man might have missed his calling, and could have been an amazing lawyer with that ability to qualify any statement, he figured, watching Crowley walk away and bark orders to his crew, but anyone seeing his multiple awards for 'Best Director' from the Adult Film Association would have begged otherwise.

Tension still ached behind his shoulder, his headache had gotten a bit bigger during his short conversation with Crowley, and he was still wound up tighter than an eight-year-old's toy car, but he let out a small sigh of relief. One bitch at a time, he could handle no problem. So when Crowley called for the actors to take their places, Dean was able to school his face to a decidedly more natural expression than he'd managed all day.

The scene itself should never have been so difficult to get through, just a few minutes of Ruby flirting and dropping hints that the hunter he was playing wouldn't pick up on until much later. Dean flirted back, moving so he was only inches from the woman. He almost expected Crowley to yell to cut the scene again, and was relieved when he didn't. "Agent Ford," Garth called as he rounded the corner from the next room, where his character had supposedly been searching for some sign of witchcraft, and tipped his head to the front door.

"Leaving so soon?" Ruby teased, letting her fingers trail up his arm and she leaned up, her lips just a breath from his.

"You heard Agent Hamill," he murmured, jerking his head towards Garth when the other actor called him again. Then he stepped back from the woman, feeling her eyes on him as he walked to Garth. They turned back before leaving the scene and Dean nodded to her once. "We'll be in touch," he said the line, trying to inject it with as much promise as he figured would satisfy Crowley. She gave him a sexy smile and he followed Garth out the door.

Then, curious about the changes Crowley had made, he brushed away the assistants who rushed to him and Garth in favor of watching the rest of the scene play out. He walked towards Crowley and Chuck as Ruby half turned from the door, the smile fading and her dark gaze shifting to the far side of the room. A door opened and Meg leaned against it, a wicked smile curving her plush lips. "I'll handle Agent Ford," Ruby told her, "Hamill is yours." Meg nodded slowly and Crowley cut the scene.

Dean figured it wasn't one of his better changes until he overheard Crowley instructing the editor to cut the top half of Meg's face from the scene, leaving her identity a mystery. He looked to Chuck questioningly. The man shrugged, wiping the sleeve of his shirt across his brow before scribbling more changes into his own copy of the script. "He plans on keeping the fact that Julia is in the coven a secret until the end. He says it will make the trap scene more believable."

He nodded, looking back to where Meg and Ruby were talking softly with Crowley. The conversation obviously didn't hold much interest to him and his bored expression made Dean grin. Sure Crowley hated his guts, but the man didn't seem to hold any more affection for either of the women talking to him. He couldn't say his life to this point had been lucky exactly, but could be that he had just enough to keep Meg and Ruby too busy with the director to mess with him. He crossed his fingers and tossed an empty salt packet from Chuck's table over his shoulder just for good measure. Then, ignoring both the strange look the writer gave him and Garth trying to get his attention, he headed for the kitchen and picked through the trays of sandwiches, silently reviewing his lines for the next scene Crowley planned on shooting today. With enough focus, he might make it out of this hellhole a few hours early.

**A/N: I'm working on NaNoWriMo again this year, but as I'm still a few chapters ahead, it shouldn't effect my updates. Still, head's up!  
**


	13. Chapter 13

Gabriel looked at his stack of pancakes and licked his lips, contemplating his best plan of attack. With three options of syrup, that so far had been the hardest decision of the morning. Finally, he just eenie-meenie-minie-moe'd it and picked up the maple. His companion made a choking sound as he drowned his breakfast in the thick goo. "Don't you think that's enough?" Sam Winchester asked, his hand moving his cup of coffee further away, as if Gabriel might choose to douse that too.

Gabriel just held up his fork as he continued pouring. "These cakes are the Titanic, this syrup is the ocean, and that's why this is going to be an awesome movie," he explained, finally putting down the now half-empty bottle. "Not because of some over-hyped teenie-bopper's wet dream."

"Titanic was an awesome movie?" Sam asked doubtfully, and Gabriel only grinned at him before taking his first forkful of heavenly goodness.

He moaned and closed his eyes against the barrage of flavors, sweet and buttery and so much better than any simple flapjack he'd ever before sampled. "Oh, Sasquatch, how did you find this place?" he asked, not really caring about the answer as much as he did his next bite. It was so difficult for every bit of a meal to live up to the first taste, but these pancakes! Gabriel wondered how many mornings he could eat them before he got too fat for his clothes. The next bite almost convinced him it would be worth a new wardrobe.

Sam cleared his throat awkwardly, lifting his mug for a drink as his gaze swept uneasily around the near empty diner. "Are you sure it's okay to be here together?" he asked and set the cup down. His fingers drummed a nervous beat against the worn Formica table and he visibly flinched when the bell over the door dinged, announcing a new customer.

Gabriel shrugged, pushing his fork to cut through the short stack. "You're the one who insisted you needed to make amends for the dunderheaded way you treated your super amazing professor."

"Clearly your words, not mine," Sam interjected and lifted his mug for another swallow of his coffee.

Gabriel only shrugged again before returning his attention to his pancakes. "That's not important. These pancakes, these are…"

"You!" The screech came from across the room, just near the register, and sounded familiar enough that Gabriel couldn't doubt that the voice had meant him. Sam's brows furrowed, his face a mix of confusion and embarrassment underlined with a clear desire to escape from whatever was headed their way.

Gabriel leaned forward, fork still in hand and asked softly, "What did you say this place was called?"

A moment passed before Sam looked at him, and another before he could answer, "The Hunter's Rest." Sam looked back up, his gaze hanging just above Gabriel's shoulder.

"Yup," Gabriel nodded. It made sense then. The older man saw Sam's eyes widen and took in the way he straightened up, leaning further back into his chair as if that might help him get away. He judged that he had less than a minute to try and defuse the situation he knew was coming. So Gabriel dropped his fork, pulled his best grin, no matter that it hadn't worked for shit last time, and in one smooth motion that came from years of practice and just generally being awesome, he stood and turned. "Babe!" he greeted Anna Milton with his arms spread, though he knew she wouldn't step in for the hug.

"Don't 'babe' me, you sleaze," she snarled, flipping her long ponytail over her shoulder as she glowered, stopping just a few paces from his table. "I thought it was pretty clear that I never wanted to see you again." She threw a hand up to indicate the diner, a black apron clenched in her fist.

Gabriel let his hands fall, and pouted. "Aw, come on, sweetheart, are you still mad about that?" He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets and lifted his shoulders in a small shrug. "It's been a whole month," he pointed out rationally.

Anna's cheeks, already pinked with anger, flushed even more red, and her eyes flashed. "We were together for three years, Gabriel," she snapped, "and you cheated on me for two of them. At least!" She let out a bitter laugh and shook her head. "It wouldn't surprise me if it had been all three actually. So if you honestly think I'm going to take you back then-"

He could hear Anna working up the anger again so he quickly jumped in. "Breakfast," he said, and could swear he almost saw her train of thought screeching to a halt. The anger still rose high in her cheeks, but with any luck he wouldn't have to listen to another tirade. And Gabriel knew how to make his own luck. Usually. "I'm here having breakfast with a friend." He stepped to the side, for the first time allowing Anna a clear view of his companion. Sam gave a weak smile and a half-hearted wave. "And we're even paying," Gabriel pointed out, before Anna could say anything further. "Doesn't that mean you have to be nice to us?"

It might not have been the best thing to say under the circumstances, though Gabriel knew it certainly wasn't the worst, and red flooded up through Anna's whole face. But she turned and stalked away, shoulders trembling and back stiff as she disappeared into the kitchen. Gabriel gave a careless smile to the room at large and slid back into his seat. "That… was mortifying," Sam muttered, rubbing a hand over his face as if to wipe away the shame.

"Really?" Gabriel asked, brows raised as he picked up his fork. "Worse than when I puked on you?" He took another bite of his pancakes, ignoring Sam's glare as he lost himself in the flavor again. "Worse than when you insulted your teacher on the first day of school?"

Sam snorted. "You weren't even offended, so don't pretend now."

"And yet, here we are," Gabriel said, using the fork to indicate the whole diner before setting it to much better use polishing off his breakfast.

Sam took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Gabriel listened as he did, pleased that he could so easily annoy the other man. Castiel tended to keep his emotions more in check and so was less fun to tease. Sam though, every bit of anger, embarrassment and annoyance was etched across the kid's face, which made him just as good, if not better, to mess with than his brother. "Yes. Here we are. Why here, of all places? You had to know she'd be here."

Gabriel paused in his meal, part to make what looked to be his last bite last a bit longer. "Why would I have to know?" he asked, tipping his head a bit as he looked at Sam.

Sam stared at him for a minute, then his brows lifted in surprise. "R-really?" he stammered. "I mean, you were with her for three years, right? That seems like the sort of thing you would know about your girlfriend, even if you did cheat on her for most of your relationship." Shaking his head, Gabriel finished the last of his pancakes. He thought about ordering more, but he couldn't trust the food coming out of the kitchen now, not when Anna had yet to make her reappearance. "Why the head shaking?" Sam asked, subconsciously mimicking the movement. "You think you shouldn't know anything about the person you're with?"

Gabriel shrugged, leaning back in his chair as he pulled his eyes from the syrup to meet Sam's hazel gaze. "Sasquatch, you don't have to know shit about anyone to be with them. Hell, I'm with you right now and besides your name, I know just two things about you. That you're in college, and that your brother is a fantastic drinking buddy." He grinned at the other man.

Sam rolled his eyes. "I meant _together_ with somebody, like boyfriend and girlfriend. Besides, one of your facts about me is actually about my brother," he pointed out, and waved over a waitress for a refill on his coffee.

Gabriel put a hand over the cup, smiling at the woman as he told her, "He changed his mind." He ignored Sam's protests until the woman shrugged and walked away, using the moment to check out her backyard before turning his attention back to his companion. "You, my friend, are guilty by association. I wouldn't order anything else today, just to be safe."

"So I can't have coffee because you cheated on your girlfriend?" Sam clarified, and threw his hands up at Gabriel's nod of confirmation. The older man grinned as he recognized what Dean had called 'the bitchface.'

"Technically," Gabriel started, removing his hand from the mug and twirling a finger through his syrup, "I never cheated on her." He lifted his finger and sucked of the syrup as he met Sam's disbelieving gaze.

"Really?" Sam asked, one brow hitching just higher than the other. Gabriel nodded, swiping his finger through the syrup again and licking it off. "She seemed to think you did."

"Well, obviously," Gabriel replied, shrugging slightly, "but I can't help what she thinks. At best, she was only level nine, and it's not cheating until you hit level ten."

He concentrated on wiping off the rest of his syrup, wishing he could trust the woman not to mess with his food enough that he could get more pancakes. Ah, well, he'd just have to wait another day. "Alright," Sam finally said, and Gabriel looked up, "I'll bite. What are you talking about?"

Gabriel let out a mock gasp. "Oh, dear little Sammy-kins! Don't tell me your brother never taught you about the birds and the bees! Well, you see, when two people meet and decide they want to get it on-"

"Stop!" Sam interrupted a little too loudly, and Gabriel grinned as he shushed the clearly embarrassed man. "Just stop there. I'm not asking about… about that," he stammered, his voice low and his cheeks flushing as he stumbled over the words. "I know all that, I'm not a virgin."

Gabriel let out a startled gasp, clapping a hand over his chest. "Mr. Winchester! That is a highly inappropriate topic to be discussing with your teacher!" he cried, struggling to keep his face straight as Sam's flush spread down his neck and he stuttered even more.

Finally, Sam managed to force a few words past his embarrassment. "I meant the levels!" he stressed, and covered his face with one hand. "I just meant, what levels are you talking about, you ass?" he mumbled through his hand.

Gabriel 's grin widened and he sat back in his chair, his finger playing idly with the end of his fork. "Well, I am your teacher. Might as well give you a lesson on something that will help in the real world." Sam peeked through his fingers at him, as if trying to decide if he was finally being serious. "See, Sasquatch, there are ten levels to being in that sort of relationship. Level one is that awkward sort of obliviousness in which my dear brother Castiel seems perpetually stuck." He shook his head, pitying his brother. "From there you got casual flirting, then messing around up to second base, and a couple of levels involving people you work with that you probably shouldn't get involved with anyway." That's was where the dean's secretary had fallen, and Gabriel probably could have evaluated that whole situation a little better. But, Hey! Pancakes. It was worth it in the end.

"And then?" Sam asked, his hand finally coming down from his face as he listened, his expression thoughtful, like one studying a foreign culture.

"At step six, you're kind of on the fence," he continued, pouring sugar on his empty plate and drawing designs in the white grains with the tines of his fork. "You don't know for sure if the person is going to be a level seven, the fuck-buddy with amazing sex but you're too ashamed to show them off, or a level eight, someone you can date, which may or may not involve sex." Sam's face grew red and Gabriel looked up to see a shock faced waitress at his side, check in hand. He smiled at her and took the paper, passing it immediately to Sam. The other man ducked his head, keeping his face hidden until he pulled out a few crumpled bills and handed them to the waitress. She nodded, her smile unsure, and scurried off.

"Out," Sam ordered, his face still red as he stood and ushered Gabriel to the front door. Gabriel waved cheerfully when they passed the kitchen and he could see Anna's red head peeking from around the corner. He was rewarded with a stifled screech that he couldn't fully enjoy thanks to Sam pushing him out the door. "Haven't you embarrassed me enough for one day?" the man moaned and headed for the piece of junk he called a car.

Gabriel checked his watch. "It's only 7:30 in the morning," he answered, following Sam across the mostly empty lot. "I could probably go for more."

"No, thank you," Sam told him firmly as he unlocked the car and got in. Gabriel could see him debating for a moment, before the man leaned over and pulled up on the passenger lock to let him in.

"Good on you." Gabriel might not have blamed him if Sam had left him at the diner. It was probably better that he hadn't because Gabriel would have come up with half a dozen ways to make him pay, but he still wouldn't have blamed the man. Even he was almost embarrassed, though it was mostly for Anna and Sam than for himself. He was protected by the rule of the levels. "Anyhow, then you got level nine, which is where Anna and Kali were at, the girlfriend level."

Sam nodded and started the car. "Right, so you were cheating on her. With Kali?" he clarified, nodding when he was sure he gotten the name right.

"Haven't you been listening, Sasquatch?" Gabriel shook his head and settled against the door to watch the taller man more clearly. He really was too damn tall, with his seat pushed nearly all the way back. Gabriel had to turn almost to his side to even see the other man. "It's not cheating until level ten, exclusivity, and I haven't met a level ten yet."

Sam nodded slowly, but said nothing. Gabriel let the wisdom sink in until they were in the school's parking lot, just outside his building. "That is quite possibly the single most dickhead thing I've ever heard," Sam finally told him, and got of the car.

Gabriel hurried after him, only just remembering to slam down the lock before he shut the door. Kid seriously needed to invest in a newer car. One with automatic locks. "You're the one who asked," he reminded the other man.

Sam shook his head, hitching his backpack on his shoulder. "You're a dick."

"I'm still your teacher," Gabriel said, and Sam stopped walking, a flush rising slowly to his cheeks. Gabriel grinned wide, moving to poke the taller man in the side a few times. "You forgot. Ha! So, more pancakes right?" Sam glared at him, but Gabriel just shrugged, then lifted his arms to fold his hands behind his head as he walked for his classroom. "Or, you know, I could just get offended." He heard a sound of annoyance behind him and smiled wider. Really, the kid was just too easy. And hey! More pancakes!


End file.
